Time Warp
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: There's a minor... incedent with the transporter. What do you get when you combine Chekov, Neal Caffrey, and a small atom adjustment? Pure mayhem on the Starship Enterprise and a very annoyed FBI agent. K for adorable-ness, Bones' mouth and theft of hypo.
1. Chapter 1

Chekov smiled slightly at the old house in front of him. It wasn't old to the people of the time period, but to him it was ancient and mystic and a thing of beauty. He absently wondered who would be living there as he pulled out his comm. unit.

The _Enterprise_, due to some odd flux in temporal space or something (Chekov hadn't paid much attention), they were back in the early twenty-first century. Which made for excellent shore leave. He had been one of the first to arrive, his first choice, unlike that of most, being New York, and would now be one of the last to leave, the only other person from the _Enterprise_ still on shore leave being Spock, mostly due to the Captain forcing him down. Chekov wasn't even sure if he wasn't back yet, but he was fully enjoying his time, but he was fully enjoying his time so he didn't particularly care.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. They had roughly a week or so and they needed all personal back on the ship. After one final trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and a walk, he found himself in front of this building, sad to have to leave that time period behind. Chekov had always loved history.

He flipped the comm. open, ignoring the few odd looks he received. He couldn't help the raised eyebrow at the thumbs up and mild smirk he got from a man as he entered the very building he'd been admiring though. Chekov had to admit, it was the black rat pack Fedora that caught his attention. That, and the baby blue eyes. They reminded him of his captain's, in a way.

"Aye Chekov?" Said Scotty's all-too-cheery voice, snapping the young Russian out of his revere.

The Ensign walked to a nearby alley, still near that house. He simply didn't want to get too far away from it, and it wasn't exactly in any ones sight unless they were looking.

"Ready to beam up, Meester Scott." Chekov said. His smile depleted by a few molars as the words came out of his mouth.

"Aye laddie, ready ta beam up." The Scotsman said, and the world dissolved.

{][][}

And beam him up Scotty did, though there was a minute… complication.

It seemed like nothing. In normal circumstances, it would have been nothing. Unfortunately for the _Enterprise's_ notoriously bad luck, it wasn't nothing.

There was something, a small subspace signal, that going right through the ship, into a satellite nearby. Scotty either didn't notice because he'd overlooked it, or did and just dubbed it off as the earlier mentioned nothing. Whatever it was though, it messed with the transporter.

Instead of one body landing on the transporter pad, Scotty saw the outline of two.

That wasn't even the complication.

They were both pint sized, about the height of an average five year old, one just a mite taller than the other.

When both figured materialized they dropped into a dead faint at exactly the same moment, bodies thumping against the metal.

Needless to say, Scotty alerted sickbay.


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy rushed to the transporter pad, medkit in hand, obviously fearing the worst. What else could it be on that ship? They were, after all, cursed ever since the Narada thing. Why wouldn't it be the worst?

It wasn't, however. In fact, there didn't even appear to be someone injured, though Scotty was hyperventilating slightly.

No, there were just two kids passed out on the transporter pad.

McCoy stared at the two boys, head titled to one side in almost morbid fascination. The one on the right -the taller and skinnier of the two- had dark brown, almost black, hair that fell into closed eyes. There appeared to be something on his ankle, though McCoy didn't pay much attention to it. The other, that was a bit shorter, had curly bronze hair, which was cut short. The bronze haired boy looked vaguely familiar too…

"Scotty," the CMO said slowly, blinking. "What happened?"

Scotty took one long, deep breath, straightening out his thoughts. This sort of thing didn't just happen every day, and most certainly not with his equipment!

"Chekov basically asked ta be beamed back up. Ah did, and there was a small… Signal disturbance tha' I though' was nothing', and here we are, with a mini-Russian genius on our hands an' some random kid." He looked to the other child, who stirred, as though feeling his gaze. Scotty immediately turned back to the doctor.

McCoy nodded, walking over to the passes out children and checking their hart rates, at the same time scanning with a tricorder.

"They seem to be in perfect health, though the other kid seems to have a mild vision impairment, but that's about it." He slowly picked up the dark-haired boy, raising an eyebrow at the Chief Engineer. "You gonna help me get them down to sickbay or do I have to carry them both myself?" He growled mildly, and the boy in his arms stirred. Scotty mentally shook himself, picking up the younger version of Chekov. He followed McCoy on his way out, trying to contemplate _how_ exactly this had happened. First off, how had the other boy (assuming he's been a child at the time of transport; if Chekov had been de-aged after all…) gotten on the ship in the first place, unless he was practically touching Chekov at the time? Secondly, why had they been de-aged in the first place? There was _no apparent reason_ why it should have happened. None. Unless Scotty had missed something while beaming Chekov up, but that was impossible… Right? Right. No way he could have screwed something up and inadvertently turning the crews' favorite helmsman into a child.

He barely noticed when they arrived at sickbay, or when McCoy gently took Pavel out of his arms and onto a biobed.

Next thing the Scot remembered consciously was working on the transporter, trying to figure out what happened.

Thank goodness he'd already gotten Commander Spock on board.

{][][}

The unknown boy was the first to wake, albeit at a slower rate that McCoy would have been comfortable with. Then again, the boy was five. Five year olds were prone to either hyperness upon waking, or intense grogginess.

As soon as those huge baby blue eyes took in their surroundings they widened, and the good doctor was there to help with the onset panic attack.

"W-where am I?" The young boy asked, voice high pitch in fear. McCoy rubbed small, soothing circles into the child's back as he explained.

"You're on the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, kid. You know what that is?" The boy nodded, which only made McCoy quirk an eyebrow. Really, the kid shouldn't have known that.

"_U.S.S. E-Enterprise_." The boy started shakily, his body shaking under the doctor's palm. "F-Federation starship." He laughed, as though relieved. "I-I'm dreaming. Just a d-dream."

"Kid, I need you to answer a few questions. What's your name?" Because, really, the dark-haired child couldn't just go by "kid" until they got him back to his normal age and in his time period.

The boy cocked his head slightly, like a bird. "Neal."

Okay, first name at least.

"And what's your last name, Neal?" McCoy asked, voice soft in a bedside manner he hardly used.

"C-Caffrey."

Bones nodded. "Okay then. How old are you, Neal?" He could just as easily look up the name and get all the information he needed, but this way he could make Neal more comfortable with his surroundings.

"Five-and-a-half." Neal said proudly, straightening slightly. Neal paused slightly, brow furrowing. "What's your name?"

McCoy ruffled dark curls. "I'm Doctor McCoy, but you can call me Bones." If you couldn't get rid of the nickname, may as well introduce yourself by it.

Neal giggled. "That's a silly name, Bones." McCoy wasn't sure if the child was addressing him about the nickname, or noting the it. Probably both.

"A friend of mine started calling me that. He thought it was funny too." Neal giggled again, though it quickly turned to a yawn.

"I'm kinda tired, Bones." He said, leaning against the doctor, eyes already closing. Bones nudged him gently

"I still need you to answer a few more questions, 'kay?" He said, but Neal continued to fall asleep at his shoulder. "I'm serious, Neal. Just a few more questions and you can go back to sleep." The child stiffened at his tone, but opened his eyes. "Now, how did you know about the _Enterprise, _Neal?" Ah, the burning question. How did a child from the late twentieth/early twenty-first century know about a ship that wouldn't be made until long after he was dead? It would probably be Jim's prime question about Neal Caffrey.

The boy shrugged. "TV show my friends watch." He yawned again, and Bones took pity on those drooping eyes, deciding he could finish questions later.

McCoy gently laid him down on the biobed, pulling the sheet over slim shoulders. "We'll finish this later." He said, his tone almost playful, and walked off.

He didn't even notice the hypo he'd had earlier (mostly for threatening Kirk) was missing.

{][][}

Jim was already in McCoy's office, waiting for him. His blue eyes were uncharacteristically worried, and he nervously fiddled with his hands.

"Is Chekov okay?" He asked as soon as the older man entered, and Bones rolled his eyes, taking his customary seat.

"Chekov's fine, Jim. De-aged and still unconscious, but fine. You do know there was someone else beamed up too, right?" The Doctor asked, raising an eyebrow. Jim shrugged, suddenly looking much more relaxed.

"Yeah. Scotty still has no idea how it happened. Are they de-aged too?" Bones nodded.

"Yup. About the same age as we're assuming Chekov is, though we don't know if he got de-aged or was a kid in the first place." He paused for a moment. "He said his name was Neal Caffrey. Knew the _Enterprise_ as soon as I told him about it. Before you ask, he said there was a TV show his friends watched. Didn't get more than that since he conked out on my shoulder." The doctor absently reached into his pocket, immediately patting it after. Kirk snickered.

"What is it Bonesy? Hypo missing?" The blond asked. Bones scowled.

"As a matter of fact, yes, the damn hypo is missin'." He replied, glaring at the general vicinity of the room. Kirk laughed again.

"What, you think that Caffrey kid stole it from you?"

Bones blinked, taking out a padd and looking up something quickly. He scanned the page, lips moving silently with what he was reading (a habit picked up from Jim) before his jaw dropped.

"You've gotta be kidding me." He muttered, half-dropping half-setting the padd back on the table before practically rushing out of the room. Kirk eyes the padd, picking it up curiously. He scanned the page, and one eyebrow quirked. It was an article, written by a Peter Burke, an FBI agent. It was short and sweet, but it was more than enough of a summary of the child in their sickbay.

_From Con Artist to Consultant: A Brief Overview of Neal Caffrey_

_How does one describe Neal Caffrey? Neal Caffrey is charming, smooth, and clever, if I had to say in so few words._

_He is also the worlds best conman and white collar criminal._

_After chasing him for three years the FBI caught him in 2003 on bond forgery, only one of his many alleged crimes, though Caffrey himself insists he "turned himself in". After three years and ten months in prison, he escaped, going after his (ex)girlfriend, Kate Moreau. He is caught once again, this time without the three years of searching._

_After being placed back in prison -again- he strikes up a deal. Instead of a traditional four-year sentence, he became a consultant for the FBI. At any time he could be sent back, for whatever reason, but most who know him highly doubt it will happen._

_So far Caffrey has cracked of played a major role in cracking over twenty intricate cases, and solved many other smaller, less detailed cases._

_~Peter Burke 2/9/10_

There was more. A lot more. Around seven pages of results more. Just for the name Neal Caffrey. Kirk raised an eyebrow in a way that would have made his first officer proud (if Vulcan's displayed suck emotions, of course), staring at the page. He couldn't help the slight dropping of his jaw, or the widening of his eyes. The raised eyebrow was the only thing he did on purpose.

He checked a few other links. Criminal file, pieces of artwork, but nothing before Neal was five.

Like he hadn't even existed.

Kirk immediately turned in the chair, about to stand and make his way to the door when McCoy walked in. He had the missing hypo in hand.

And a tracking anklet.

A twenty-first century tracking anklet.

Jim had studied the things as a kid, fascinated by the old working. Impossible to unlock unless you had a key and easy to cut off if you didn't mind a nasty scar on your ankle. He'd never though that he'd see one in person.

McCoy scowled at the childlike curiousness on his friends face.

"I found this on Caffrey, which confirms he was de-aged as well. It slipped right off." He slammed the anklet down on his desk, taking a seat quickly. "The hypo was in his pocket. Didn't even notice me take it back, seeing as he was asleep." He twitched, and placed the hypo on the table beside the anklet. "I'm assuming you read the article?" It was a sort of half-statement, half-question. Neither was entirely sure which.

"And quite a few more. Thief, con artist, forger, all alleged, all probably true." He gave that Kirk smirk of his, a quiet snicker escaping. "I believe the appropriate phrase would be "you just got powned, Bones". By a five year old, no less!" And he ran. Ran like the Devil was about to chase him. More accurately, ran like Bones was about to knock his sorry ass out until the five-year mission was over.

McCoy rolled his eyes, and placed the hypo (which, really, was only a vitamin with a side effect of two) in the top drawer of his desk. Keep it out of reach of future (Past? Present?) conman, and within reach when annoying Captain's walked through his door. That was McCoy; prepared for anything. Or anyone. Or any particularly annoying Captain (he had yet to use it on the equally annoying, if not more so, First Officer). Hypos were good for everything, after all.

It was only a minute or so later that the door whooshed open, and McCoy looked up from the padd he had grabbed again, searching the other various files on Caffrey. He looked up to see the very child standing in the doorway, hyperventilating slightly, eyes wide and skin pale.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" The young boy whispered, fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He was clearly stressed and panicking.

McCoy stood up immediately, placing a comforting hand on the child's shoulder as he kneeled down to where he was eye level. "Why would you think this was a dream?" He asked gently, wincing internally. That was possibly the single most stupid question he could ask. Why _wouldn't_ the kid think it was a dream? As far as he had known, the _Enterprise _was just a ship on a TV show, nothing else. It wasn't real. And what do most people dream of? Things that aren't real.

"I-I have dreams like this… a lot." Neal said slowly, as though trying to figure out the proper way of getting it out. "I figured it was another one."

His breathing was getting quicker and his eyes darted around the room. Bones knew the beginning on a panic attack when he saw one, and he quickly went over to the desk, grabbing a second hypo from his desk.

"I'm going to give you a mild relaxant." The Doctor said, pressing the hypo to Neal's neck softly. The dark haired boy winced despite himself.

Neal shuddered slightly as Bones put the empty hypo back in his pocket, eyes still darting around the room. "M-Moz…" He whispered quietly, and McCoy cocked his head to one side.

"Who's Moz?" He asked, hoping that talking about something familiar with calm the child down considering the relaxant didn't seem to be.

The boy shivered, crossing his arms over his chest. "F-friend of mine. M-Mozzie 'nd Pet-ter." A confused look crossed the young face. "But I f-forg-get who P-Peter is…" He trailed off, swallowing loudly. Or he would have swallowed loudly if he hadn't suddenly dropped to the floor, eyes rolled to the back of his head and limbs flailing.

The kid was having a seizure.

McCoy immediately went into action, though there wasn't much else he could do other than hold the kid's head so he didn't give himself a concussion.

"Nurse Chapel!" He called loudly out the door. "I need 10 milligrams of diazepam, now!"

{][][}

**A/N: I did my research on the diazepam thing. They are actually doing testing for an auto injector for it for someone who had seizures (my brothers doctor mentioned it t his appointment yesterday) and I did my research for the dosage too. 10 mg is the smallest dosage possible. So, yeah.**

**Hope everyone liked! So happy to have written the very second WC/ST crossover! (The first being by Sparky Dorian, whom you should check out) And yes, cliff hangers are evil. that's why I write them.**

**Oh, and I'd like to thank Sparky for letting me borrow Neal and de-age him for a bit. Well, their friends, so I didn't have to ask, but I did anyway. thank you Sparky! And USA Network! :D**

**Leave reviews, don't steal them like Mozzie. And the Feds.**

**~Piki :B**


	3. Chapter 3

Jim was in Sickbay as soon as he heard something had gone wrong.

This, of course, would normally not happen. Normally he would avoid Sickbay at all costs, even if there were something wrong. He would avoid and deflect and downright refuse to come in until he passed out unless a friend or crewmember was there. Normally, one of his crewmembers wasn't de-aged with an admittedly unwelcome hitchhiker joining him.

He sighed in relief when he saw that Chekov -who was on a bed closer to the door- appeared to be fine and without a doctor or nurse at his shoulder. Bones, however, was still nearby, hovering over the biobeds. It took Kirk a second to realize his gaze wasn't fixed on Chekov's bed, but Neal's.

The dark haired boy _appeared_ fine at least, but there must have been a reason for Bones to mention something go wrong. As far as Kirk knew there weren't any other patients, and unless something went wrong in Engineering…

"What happened?" The Captain asked intelligently, eyes flickering from one de-aged child to another.

Bones sighed heavily, thumping into the seat between the two. "Caffrey woke up again after you left. He was having a panic attack, I gave him a relaxant. The kid muttered a couple ah names before he started having a seizure. There doesn't appear to be any lasting effects, though he'll be asleep for a while. I'm not entirely sure if the seizure was because of an allergic reaction to the meds or some other factor, and I doubt we'll find out." The words were calm, cool. He was using his "Doctor McCoy" tone, not Bones.

Kirk could see why.

The younger man plopped into the chair beside Chekov's biobed (neither noticed the slight increase in brain activity), eyes flickering between his friends, the de-aged Ensign, and the also de-aged conman. McCoy's eyes kept firmly trained on his friend's overly-electric blue. The younger man obviously had something on his mind, but just didn't want to say it.

"Well?" Bones said after an irritating minute or so. "Spit it out, man!"

Chekov's still form twitched, though neither noticed.

"What were those names Caffrey muttered?" Jim asked, eyes finally settling on the mentioned child.

"Peter and something else I didn't quite catch. Mas or something like that." The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Jim shrugged dismissively. "No reason, Bonesy."

A companionable silence fell across the room, the only sound being the nurses quiet chatter near the back of Sickbay. The near silent beeps of the heart monitor soothed any tenseness from the 'Bay's occupants, each one going strong. It was perfect and comfortable and neither felt fully inclined to break it. That is, until Chekov shifted (quite audibly this time), before opening his eyes blearily, stretching forward. Nobody moved as the boy acquainted himself to his knew surroundings, still not really seeing them. It took a minute for the penny to drop.

There was the all-too familiar widening of those blue-green eyes, the Pavel's mouth opened in a gape.

It would have been almost funny if he hadn't looked so panicked.

"Gde my?" He said in quick, voice high pitch in fear. A confused look crossed over McCoy's face and his finger was just above the comm. button when Jim spoke.

"Govorite li vy po angliysk?" The blond asked in fluent Russian, and Bones' hand dropped to his side in shock. He had known his friend spoke French, as well as bits and pieces or Czech and Latin (and that was just the languages from _Earth_), but Russian? Really? What the hell? Where the hell did he learn it?

"D-Da." The boy said quietly, still scared out of his wits. His eyes flickered across the room, never staying on one thing for two long. His eyes finally rested on the electric blues of his Captain. "I speak Engleesh." His accent was much thicker than the seventeen-year-old Chekov they all knew. _According to his file, he would have just recently moved to the US. _Kirk thought absently, placing one hand on Chekov's shoulder.

"I want you to relax, okay?" Jim said soothingly, and McCoy watched the interaction with growing interest. Chekov nodded, hiding his hands behind his back. "You know about the Federation Starship that's being built? The one that was just started on? It's in Riverside, Iowa."

"Da. Vone of my couseens is helping vith eet." Chekov replied.

Jim nodded approvingly. "Well, that's where you are. When you turn seventeen you're going to be assigned to this ship. There was a small transporter incident, while we were on shore leave in the early twenty-first century-"

"Early tventy-first?" Pavel questioned head cocked. "How?"

Jim waved a dismissive hand. "It's stuff that not even our Vulcan first officer fully understands. Something about an ion storm… I don't really know." He shrugged. "Anyway, we beamed -err- you up to the _Enterprise_ . There was an interference, though we have no idea what it was, and here we are." He paused. "There was someone else who was de-aged too. Any questions?"

McCoy, from his spot still by Neal's bed (he didn't feel comfortable leaving a range of three yards of the boy, lest he have another seizure) blinked rapidly. Both he and Jim expected a giant tyraid of questions, knowing how curious _their_ Chekov was, but they never came. The Russian merely sat there, a contemplative look on his young face. He absently fiddled with his hands. They were still shaking.

"Pavel, maybe you should go to sleep." Jim said quietly. Humans did, after all, process whatever weird and supposedly impossible crud they dealt with during the day. Like Vulcan's and their meditating, really. Just not as much emotional suppression.

Pavel shrugged. "Okay," he said, and lay down. Jim was moderately sure he was out before his head hit the pillow.

He looked over to Bones for guidance, wondering if this was at all normal. Yes, children of that age needed more sleep, but he had been passed out for almost eight hours already and had only been awake long enough for a brief explanation. That probably wasn't normal, right? Right.

The older man laughed at his friend's worried look, ignoring how hypocritical it was to do so. "He's fine, Jim. Just a tired five year old. Neal did the same thing. Only half faking, I think." Kirk snickered, which was basically his version of a relieved sigh.

"I still can't believe that he was able to lift a hypo off you. And you didn't even notice!" That patented Kirk smirk slowly climbed across his face. "Remind me to have him teach me that sometime."

"Like hell I will. Can't have you snatching epinephrine while you're starting to have a major allergy attack just because you don't want the hypo."

Jim laughed, playfully thumping his friend on the shoulder. "Shut up, Bones!"

{][][}

It was a simple enough day, filled with busy work like cold cases and mortgage fraud. Neal had walked home, when Peter called, asking if the con wanted to come for dinner (because Heaven knew he wouldn't eat so soon after the whole Mozzie/Fowler affair). They had chatted for a bit, Neal talking as he made his way up the stairs to June's apartment. He, of course, didn't explain the short pause before walking into the building. And then, all of a sudden, the phone went dead. When Peter came to investigate he found it broken -battery and sim-card fallen out- at the top step, just at Neal's apartment door. There were no signs that Neal had been kidnapped or anything of the sort had happened.

He called Jones later the agent had said Neal's tracking anklet wasn't sending off a correct signal - either that or the conman was in space, which was, of course, completely impossible. Neal Caffrey had simply disappeared with a malfunctioning tracking anklet.

That was yesterday.

Now, it was nine in the morning, with El preparing to leave and Peter starring at pictures of the "crime scene" as well as the report. Why the pictures were taken, he wasn't sure, considering there really was no reason to do so, but some probie had anyway.

"Hon, you sure you don't want me to stay here?" Elizabeth asked kindly, placing a gentle hand on her husbands shoulder. "I might be able to help."

Peter waved a hand, dismissing the subject distractedly. "I'm fine, El. Go ahead and go." Elizabeth nodded slowly, and a moment or so later she heard the door open, shut, open again, and creak shut excessively slowly.

Peter barely noticed the, "you should really get that thing oiled, Suit.". Not did he notice the person who said it until they were right across from him.

Very good wake up call, that.

"Moz!" Peter said, blinking rapidly in surprise when the other man sat at the other side of the table. "When did you get here?"

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "About five minutes ago. Where's Neal?"

Peter blinked.

"You mean you don't know?"

"Nooo… I thought you did."

"His tracker says he's in space."

_Knock, knock, knock._

Both sets of eyes immediately went to the door.

"You expecting someone, Suit?" Peter slowly shook his head, hand straying to his gun as he got up. "And it wouldn't be a fellow Fed?"

"All at the office looking into Neal's disappearance." Peter replied

"So unless Mrs. Suit forgot her house key-"

"-Which she didn't."

"Then we really have no idea who's at that door.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Pretty much." The agent said, and tossed open the door, hand on the butt of his gun if need be.

"Woah, chill!" Said the man in the door. He looked completely ready to attend a sci-fi convention, his Captain's golds glittering slightly in the bright morning light. His curly blond hair was half styled, like someone in the military. He even had the phaser holstered at his hip.

Peter blinked, putting his hand down by his side. Mozzie soon walked up behind him, one eyebrow cocked at what appeared to be a James T. Kirk impersonator.

The Kirk clone cleared his throat, one hand on the phaser at his hip, the other in his pocket. "Your FBI agent Peter Burke?" He questioned.

The older man nodded.

"Handler of FBI consultant Neal Caffrey whom had recently gone missing?"

Peter nodded again, and Mozzie's eyebrow climbed higher.

"I know where you friend is. If you would simply close your eyes, take a few deep breaths and ignore any tingling feelings you may or may not in the outer extremities?" He said, clearing his throat once more.

Both Mozzie and Peter finally found something they agreed on other than Neal's well being in that moment.

The man standing in front of them was insane.

Said man pulled what appeared to be a comm. Unit from his pocket, the familiar double chirping sound emitting from it as it was opened.

"Ready ta beam up, Cap'n?" Said an oddly familiar Scottish brogue on the other end.

The Kirk clone briefly looked up at the two men examining him, both trying to figure out if the comm. was a toy or a very tricked out cell phone.

"Not just me, Scotty. Three life signals. All within this general vicinity."

"Aye, three meter radius?"

"You got it."

Peter and Mozzie looked at each other, both debating whether or not to simply knock out the young man before them right then and there. Too bad they didn't get the chance…

{][][}

Scotty eagerly beamed his Captain and the other two back aboard, hoping against all hope they wouldn't all come back as cute little bairns as well. He was quickly relieved when he saw three normal sized figured appear.

Jim looked over to his Engineer, his hundred-watt grin lighting up the room.

"I told you it was just a factor of the original circumstance! No reason to be worried about it happening again unless we re-create it, exactly, and we can't do that." A small smile adorned the Scot's face in return.

"Aye, I should 'ave listened to ye." He looked over to the two other people, both of whom were still dumbstruck on the transporter pad. "Who'd ye have me beam up anyway, Cap'n?"

"Peter Burke and Miles Pegg, aka Mozzie. You really don't wanna know, Scotty."

Scotty laughed whole-heartedly. "Ah bet Ah don', Jimmy boy!"

Peter blinked.

Mozzie nearly passed out.

Kirk blinked, seemingly not at all phased.

"If you gentlemen would follow me? I believe there's a reason I took you here." It was said with a straight face, though a touch of humor tinged his voice.

The FBI agent nodded wordlessly, helping the conman at his side to follow.

Needless to say, Jim laughed pretty much the whole way there.

{][][}

**A/N: That was fun! Didn't you guys think that was fun? And I actually used the search on my computer for this chapter!Gasp, right? I never have the patience to use that thing! It was for the Russian, obviously. By the way the questions were "Where am I?" and "Do you speak English?". Just thought someone would want to know. Useful, if you ever happen to go to Russia.**

**Anywho, I think that is the single longest time I've ever done mainly dialouge. Like it? Hate it? Wanna beat me with a stick for it? Because if so, you're not the only one. I don't like writing mostly diaouge but I couldn't think of anything to put inbetween.**

**Oh, and I realized something today; most people don't have the patience to read the A/N's. Like, ever. So all of that has pretty much gone to waste!**

**~Piki :B**


	4. Chapter 4

"So you're telling me that kid there is Neal? A five year old version… of Neal?" Peter questioned, looking at Kirk as though he were insane. But then, if this was the actual James T. Kirk, he probably was.

Jim rolled his eyes, absently standing between Neal's future friends and Chekov. "That's what I'm saying. No apparent cause and he still seems to remember both of you." He paused. "When did he meet you two?"

"When he was four."

"When he was twenty-one."

They both looked over to each other, equal puzzled looks on their faces. Kirk sat down by Chekov, curiously awaiting the conversation that would soon follow. Kirk really had no idea what was going on, but as long as Bones came and told them to quiet down or someone -that would hopefully not be Jim for once- would be getting a hypo in the neck; it was well worth a bit of confusion.

"That's a year before you started chasing him!" Mozzie said, his tone almost angry. "How did you know him?"

Neal stirred slightly at the raised, but Kirk said nothing.

"How do you think? He stole my wallet, I got it back, no charges were pressed! How did you meet him when he was _four_?" Peter retorted

"Minor run-in at… you don't need to know where! I didn't see him for five years. You, on the other hand, get to see him just months after your encounter. By chasing him and setting out to put him in prison. At least my meeting and meeting after was _semi_-good."

At this point in time Neal had fully woken up and was currently trying to hide underneath the thin Sickbay sheets, small hand over his ears in a vain attempt to drown out the fighting (more like bickering, but to Neal it probably seemed more like actual fighting).

"How semi? What, he picks your pocket and you gave him tips on how to do it better?"

"Shut up!" Kirk finally intervened. "You both realize that your friend is _awake _and now scared out of his wits? Again?" If the visible reaction wasn't enough, and idiot would have been able to see that from the monitor that the kids heartbeat and blood pressure were steadily raising with each word. At the level he was at now Jim wouldn't have been surprised if Bones suddenly popped up out of nowhere, yelling at anything that moved that Neal was already in a strange and stressful environment, and that they should have been doing their damndest to make it better not worse, you morons!

Yes, that rant was sure to come. Just not yet because Bones seemed nowhere in sight.

Damn.

Both men quieted immediately, eyes zeroing in like laser beams to their friend.

"You're an idiot." Peter muttered quietly.

"No, that would be you, Suit." Mozzie retorted, though his voice held no venom.

"You're both idiots." Kirk compromised. "Now why don't mommy and daddy work things out while I go get the doctor?" He said in his most patronizing voice. Not waiting for a response, the blond haired man left the "bickering spouses" with their "child".

Neal was still hiding, despite the sudden wave of quiet. Maybe he expected another outburst? Neither was sure, both more than a bit foggy about the young con's past.

Peter looked over to Mozzie, an almost desperate expression on his face. "You or me?" He whispered, almost too quiet to be heard even by Vulcan ears. Lucky for him Mozzie had exceptional hearing.

"You." The answer was short, to the point, and most importantly, _quiet_. Peter probably wouldn't have understood if he couldn't read lips.

"You actually know him at this age!" Peter mouthed in return.

"Just do it! El must have rubbed off on you _somehow_!" Mozzie said pointedly. Peter just glared, walking over to the biobed.

Neal, sensing the coming agent, peeked out from under the pillow, blue eyes wide, before quickly hiding again. Peter sighed quietly, lifting the pillow off the biobed and placing it aside. The young version of his friend burrowed deeper into the sheets, near the base of the bed. The agent paused, giving Mozzie a mildly pleading look to _leave_.

And the shorter man did, albeit slowly with a suspicious look on his face. Peter would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so focused.

"Neal," he said gently, lifting the sheets. "Neal, look at me." A small head shook slightly and Neal curled up more, avoiding looking the agent in the eye.

"Go away," the young child muttered, and Peter blinked in surprise. Neal hadn't said a word since Peter and Mozzie got aboard the _Enterprise_.

So, instead of doing what Neal asked, Peter stayed. "Neal, your okay. You know that, right?" He paused, placing a hand on the child's shoulder. Neal flinched. "No one's mad at you."

Peter could almost _hear_ the younger version of his friend's teeth chattering. "Th-then why w-were you yelling ab-bout me?" He asked quietly.

The agent blinked. "Neal, just because we mentioned you doesn't mean Mozzie and I were mad at you. We just… don't get along well, and we were worried about you." The young boy blinked, as though confused at the concept, and Peter silently cursed whoever the con's parent might have been (the records had been falsified since age four). "You were sick, buddy. Neither of us were sure what was going to happen, and when we get worried we fight. Do you understand?"

Neal nodded slightly, finally looking his future friend in the eye. "Yeah." Peter smiled, slowly picking the child up. His movements were careful and mildly exaggerated, as though warning Neal and telling him it was okay.

It was funny, Peter thought, how easily his best friend fit in his arms.

{][][}

McCoy rounded the corner, a hypo in his hand and looking a bit pissed. Kirk was grinning behind him. Finally! Someone else got the hypo in the neck!

The smile shrunk as soon as he saw Peter, whom Kirk assumed would be getting said hypo. Neal was carefully cradled in his arms, still shaking slightly, but looking decidedly more calm. Mozzie was nowhere in sight - by whose insistence Kirk would never know - and it was just the two of them. They seemed to have been in that position for a while.

Bones immediately relaxed, putting the hypo in his pocket. Everything was already taken care of.

"I'm assuming you don't need my help anymore." The CMO stated, breaking Peter out of his revere.

"Not really," he said, blinking. "If you could tell me where the mess hall is though…"

Kirk grinned again. "Take the lift to deck five. Or Engineering. Either you should be able to find something." Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Engineering?"

A shrug. "Scotty likes his food."

{][][}

Chekov, after his second awakening (soon after the "minor quibble" between Peter and Mozzie), had been taken to his room. The de-aged Russian had still been tired (so he said) and apparently couldn't sleep in Sickbay's. One of the younger crewmen who had gone down to NYC with him said he hadn't slept. Period. She had no idea what he'd done after she beamed back aboard.

Sulu, who shared quarters with Chekov, was unaware of the fact that mini Chekov was back in what was his bed. He knew about the transporter incident, of course - there wasn't a single person on the ship who didn't know what happened.

That didn't stop him from being surprised when he saw the pint sized version of his friend.

Instead of showing said shock or surprise, Hikaru stared. Pavel, with a freaking huge and unabridged copy of _Sherlock Holmes _didn't notice.

Apparently, he wasn't as tired as he'd let on.

As immersed in his book as he was Chekov didn't even notice the doors open. In some small portion of his mind he noted Sulu walking over to his side of the room and grabbing a pair of Starfleet Academy sweatpants and a t-shirt, but other than that Chekov was submersed is nineteenth century England, exploring 221b.

Finally, after several minutes of silence Sulu came out of the bathroom and tossed the shirt to Chekov. The little Russian squeaked in surprise, his book falling to the ground with a _whump._

"Vhat?" He questioned indignantly.

Sulu shrugged, picking up the book and giving it back to his young friend. "I never sleep with a shirt on anyway, so you may as well use it tonight." A pause. "I'm Hikaru, in case you didn't know."

And damn did that sounds more condescending out loud than it has in his head.

"Doktor McCoy told me about zou." And equal pause from the five-year-old. "I don't sleep."

A single raised eyebrow. "You're five. Either you sleep or you're dead."

"Vell," Chekov said testily. "I'm clearly not dead." Sulu raised his hands in a submissive gesture.

"You end up killing yourself from lack of sleep, okay. Don't keep the light on for too long though, okay?" Chekov grunted slightly in agreement.

Twenty minutes later the lights were down to fifteen percent.

Another ten and Chekov was asleep with his book on the floor.

{][][}

**A/N: Short. I'm sorry. Please accept my apology. On another note, you know the fluff was worth wait. ;)**

**~Piki :B**


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